Morrigan: From A to Z
by Faeruy
Summary: A character exploration meme - write 26 alphabetically-named stories for a character you like.I've chose Morrigan for this one, stuck following a female Dalish elf Warden.
1. A is for Alistair

_So this is based on a challenge brought up in the Dragon Age Writer's Corner, but it originally came from a Tumblr blog - see MsBarrow's story **Arren's**_**_Alphabet_**_ for more info on that one. Anyway, the idea is to choose a character and do 26 stories about them, using the "A is for..., B is for..." format. It looked like fun, so I decided to take it up, and explore one of my favorite evil characters - Morrigan. It's going to bounce all over the place in time and space, and not follow any particular order other than alphabetical. So without further ado, here's Morrigan: From A to Z._

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><p><strong>A is for Alistair<strong>

No. No, no, nononono. No. Flemeth couldn't be serious. She just couldn't. But why else would she make her travel with these so-called- Grey Wardens?

She knew what Flemeth wanted from her – a child conceived of herself and a Warden, born with the taint and the soul of an Old God. She'd known that was expected of her for a long time; since the threat of the Blight became apparent. But there were only two Wardens left in all Ferelden; a red-headed Dalish elf girl and... him. Flemeth couldn't possibly expect her to sleep with the most pathetic man ever to submit to the taint. Her child would come out wrong in the head.

During the weeks while the elf was in and out of consciousness, the idiot – Alistair - just sat and moped. Oh, he was mourning the loss of the other Wardens, but it still frustrated her to no end. He was alive with a world to save and an Archdemon to kill; something only the Grey Wardens could do, and all he did was sit around and wait for the Dalish girl to wake up. Even when that happened he did nothing; he followed Faleni Mahariel around like a lost puppy despite the fact that he was the elder and supposedly more experienced Warden. That had been five days ago. The three of them had only just left the Kokari Wilds and so far Alistair was proving himself to be completely inept. Even Faleni's slobbering mabari was of more use.

And none of it changed the fact that she was going to have to sleep with Alistair. Oh, she had slept with men she didn't like before but this... this was different. She was actually going to have to spend time with him and she wasn't going to get the chance to destroy him afterwards. No, in fact, she'd save this idiot's life by sleeping with him. Hopefully something better would turn up, but with Ferelden turning away Orlesian aid, and these two unable to recruit more Wardens, she was most likely stuck.

Why did Flemeth save these two, out of all the Wardens at Ostagar? Her mother may be cruel and harsh, but never stupid. She generally never did things without a reason. Maybe there was something to this Faleni Mahariel and Alistair the idiot that she was unaware of; she hoped so, because otherwise this was going to be the most unpleasant adventure of her life.


	2. B is for Book

**B is for Book**

She ran her fingers down the cracked spine. She couldn't believe it. Flemeth's grimoire was in her hands. Those sheep, those Circle mages, they had it for years and probably had no idea what kind of power it held. Fools. Utter fools.

Her hand danced lightly over the worn leather cover and moved towards the edge. She started to open the book and stopped, her hand spasming at the corner. Ridiculous. Flemeth was far away, in the Wilds. There was nothing to stop her, there would be no repercussions for looking through her mother's things. If she kept telling herself that, she might believe it eventually. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the grimoire.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. This wasn't a grimoire. Not in the least. No spells, no incantations, nothing. There were headers on every page; it looked to be some sort of journal. It was still Flemeth's though, that much was certain; she'd recognize that scrawl anywhere. Perhaps there might still be something of use. Only a fool would turn down an opportunity to learn, and Morrigan was no fool, especially where her mother was concerned. Yes, if Flemeth took the time to write it down, there must be value there. She looked up from her campsite; the Wardens were gone, along with Leliana; they must still be at the tower with that old Circle mage. She'd have several hours at least before she was needed, which gave her time to peruse the not-grimoire.

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><p>She had worked herself almost to a frenzy by the time the Wardens and Leliana came back. As much as she hated to admit it; she needed Faleni's help. The knowledge contained in the tome...<p>

But the old woman from the Circle was with them. What was her name... Wynne, she believed. She couldn't just go up to Faleni and ask for her assistance; it would simply not do. She could not show weakness in front of the slave mage. She forced herself to calm down, and waited for the Dalish woman to approach her in her camp.

It took awhile, but eventually Faleni did come over to check on her. By then, Morrigan was glad of the extra time; she was able to refine her arguments and hopefully increase her chances of convincing the Warden to help her. The plan was dangerous and she was fairly certain that Faleni still did not trust her entirely. A smart move, of course, but one that made her task more difficult. She pretended not to notice the elf's approach; instead she stared at the fire and waited for her to make the first move. Faleni stood their awkwardly for a moment, before clearing her throat uneasily.

"Ah, Warden. Do you wish something of me?" She asked, standing up to face the elf, forcing the smaller woman to look up at her.

"No, Morrigan. I just wanted to see how your study of the grimoire was coming."

"It's not a grimoire. There are no spells, no incantations. 'Tis... not what I expected." Her voice wavered unexpectedly. Damn. Faleni cocked her head to the side, not missing that little loss of control.

"You seem disturbed." Blast it all, so much for her plan. She may as well come out with it.

"'Disturbed' would be the right word." She sighed. "Part of the tome goes into great detail about how Flemeth managed to survive for centuries and it's... unpleasant, to say the least."

"Well?"

"You are aware of stories about other Witches? Sisters of mine, supposedly? And you're equally aware that I myself have never met any of them? As it turns out, they are all Flemeth. According to this book, as she ages, she starts to deteriorate. So, she raise a daughter and when the time is right she... she takes over their body. I... I seem to be next." She faltered. Somehow, saying that aloud was even worse than reading it.

"Are you certain?" Faleni's eyes widened in surprise.

"Most assuredly. This entry details the process by which she trains and prepares her host. 'Tis identical to my upbringing. It seems that the more powerful the body is, the easier it is for Flemeth to... assimilate. Faleni... I find myself in need of your assistance." She nearly choked on the words. Never had she asked for another's help, and if this wasn't so important...

"What do you need me to do?" The elf's blue eyes turned steely, which surprised Morrigan. Perhaps the Warden had a higher opinion of her than she thought.

"I need you to kill Flemeth."

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><p>Detailing the rest of the plan took very little time and then the Warden went off to prepare for battle. Morrigan couldn't go with her; a part of her was frustrated that she couldn't face Flemeth herself and make her answer for her betrayal. She sat down and opened the book again. She couldn't help it. There it was, her whole life; her whole destiny. She always knew she would never be Flemeth's equal, but she hoped that she could one day earn her mother's respect. She knew now that wasn't possible; how could it be? According to the book, she was livestock; a pig raised for slaughter. Flemeth had told her for a long time that she should never trust anyone, and she thought she had learned that lesson well. This book only proved that she had not.<p>

The fire made a sputtering sound, and Morrigan realized she had let it burn down to nothing. She shut the tome, and absently traced the inlaid tree design on the cover with her finger. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the tome onto the fire and turned, retiring to her tent. Behind her, the flames burned blue as they ate away at the manual of her destruction.


	3. C is for Child

**C is for Child**

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><p>She was alone when the pain started. She had been alone for the past nine months; ever since she left the company of the Warden. It had been an arduous journey from the start, but even more so as her time drew close. Five days ago she found this spot; a secluded glade with a warm, shallow spring, far from any known settlement. Since her feet were swollen, her back ached as if she was carrying the whole world, and her magic had gone completely haywire, she decided that this was a respectable place to rest for a spell. She read a lot and studied. There were things happening in the world, dangerous things, and she needed to prepare for them. Then this morning the first lance of pain hit and she realized that for a time, the rest of the world would have to wait.<p>

The intensity of the first contraction surprised her. Oh she knew that pain was a part of childbirth; she'd studied the books, seen the birth of wild animals, but for once her preperations seemed to be wholly inadequate. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt fearful of what was to come and wondered if perhaps her choice to stay away from other humans was the wrong one. The wave passed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew it was just the beginning, however, and there was much to be done.

First thing first, she built a fire big enough to last for hours; at this point she had no idea how long it would take. It was a slow process, hindered by her own mass and the contractions that hit periodically and painfully. With the fire at a satisfactory level, she set out a kettle of tea to steep, and a pot filled with tools and water to boil. Lastly, she laid out the clean linens she had saved specifically for this purpose. With those tasks accomplished, she took off her loose robe and sat down to meditate. It seemed to help; she noticed the ebb and flow, but the crippling agony was muted into something she could handle. She slipped deeper and deeper; not quite, but almost touching the Fade.

Suddenly a new contraction ripped through her, strong enough to throw her out of her trance. She looked up in the sky; it was well past midday; she had been meditating a surprisingly long time. She gingerly got to her feet when another contraction hit and she doubled over in pain, gasping. Breathe, she had to remember to breathe. Another wave of pain; they were coming faster now and much harder. There was no way she was going to be able to go back into trance - if the frequency of the contractions was any indication, she didn't have much time.

The kettle of tea was by her hand – she had thought that far at least – and it was an herbal mixture, designed to help ease cramps. She poured it into a tin cup and drained it. The warm liquid felt wonderful going down her throat, but the next stab of pain proved that the tea itself was not having much effect; she had waited too long, and took the tea too late. Or maybe it just wasn't effective. She lifted her head, gasping, and her eyes fell upon the spring; sun-warmed, clear, and inviting. Slowly, she forced herself to crawl towards the water; it took almost every ounce of strength she had but when she finally flopped down and let the warmth envelope her swollen belly, it was worth it. And it was just in time too, for she could feel the tightness in her abdomen that presaged a fresh round of agony.

But this contraction failed to end as the other ones had; though the water soothed her pain to a large degree, she could feel it rise and rise. She lost control; a wailing sound echoed around her, a product of her own throat. Her own body was betraying her in ways she never thought possible. Tears were streaming down her face while the only coherent part of her mind said _'push'. _

Push she did and screamed profanities to the empty glade; she cursed Alistair for getting her with child, she cursed Faleni for convincing him to do so, and above all she cursed the mother for giving her this task and not preparing her for it in the least. She yelled until she was hoarse, and the salt of her tears tainted the waters of the spring. As her body tore itself apart and threatened to overwhelm her reason completely, she bore down once more.

Then, in a rush, it was over. The ripping, red-hot knife pain was gone. She reveled in her relief for only a split second, then reached down into the water. Her hands immediately found her child, and with the last of her strength, introduced the baby to the air amidst a fountaining spray. It was a boy. Her child, her son, born with the soul of an Old God, took it's first breath in the setting sun and started to cry.

Some time later, when both of them were clean and dry and the babe was dozing softly on her chest, Morrigan thought back to her mother. When Flemeth pictured the soul of an Old God, did she see a tiny human with blue eyes and tufts of dark hair? Did she see a boy who sucked on his mother's teat like a bear cub? Did she see an innocent? Somehow, Morrigan thought not. She stroked her son's downy hair with a loving finger. Love. Her mother always told her that love wasn't real, and she'd believed her. She even fought with Faleni about it. But it seemed that the Warden was right; this felt real. Morrigan laughed softly. Faleni would love to have finally won an argument.

She looked down her baby. He needed a name. In all the time she'd spent carrying him, she'd never really thought about. But names held power. Flemeth would mostly likely name him after the Old God who's soul he held – Urthemiel. The father – and she couldn't believe she was even considering what Alistair would do – would probably name him after someone terribly noble and idiotic. But what would she do? She smiled. To the victor goes the spoils. It was only fitting, since the elf was responsible for the child's soul, and she knew exactly what Faleni would want the child to be named. Fen. Dalish for wolf. Her wolf, her son. Morrigan hugged Fen closer to breast. She wasn't alone anymore.

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><p><em>AN: Crikey, this was a difficult one to write, much harder than I first imagined. I meant for this to be done three days ago. There was a time when I thought I should just throw this out, and write something else for C, but I realized that I really wanted to challenge myself, and tell this part of the story._


	4. D is for Dragon

**D is for Dragon**

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><p>There was a dragon in the sky. She didn't know where it came from. Her first instinct was to run and hide in the cottage. But mother told her to be strong; that fear was a weakness. If she ran, she'd be spotted, and eaten on the spot. If she stayed, it probably would ignore her. She stared up into the sky and did not move. The dragon circled above, spiraling lower and lower. The little girl took several deep breaths; the dragon was growing larger as it came closer to her, much larger than she anticipated. But it was too late now.<p>

The dragon landed with a thud on the little piece of dry land surrounding the cottage. Morrigan stared directly at the dragon's purple talons; ominously, it was the only thing at eye level. Her eyes moved upward, and she squinted into the dragon's face. It looked back at her with oddly familiar gold eyes. The dragon roared, blasting her with wind and sound. She dug her feet in and refused to be pushed backwards, though she did clamp her hands over her ears. She glared at the dragon. If it was going to eat her, it probably would have done so already. The beast huffed, and started to shimmer and blur. It made her queasy just looking at it, so she closed her eyes.

"Morrigan." The dry voice crackled in her ears. The little girl opened her eyes. The dragon was gone, and in it's place was her mother, looking as stern as ever. "I thought I told you to pratice your exercises."

"I was. I needed more space, so I came outside. Are you the dragon?" She asked. It was the only thing that made sense; that or Flemeth killed the dragon, but somehow she doubted that.

"Brave, but foolish, girl. You think you'd still be alive if I wasn't the dragon?" Flemeth laughed, mirthlessly. Morrigan's cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. She made the wrong choice again, and didn't know it.

"I didn't know you could change forms." She said, trying to salvage what little remained of her dignity.

"There's a lot of things you don't know, girl."

"Will you teach me?"

"Yes. I will teach you how to change your shape. You can run with the beasts of the forest to your heart's content. You can even make friends with them; or at least you can try. But only if you work hard and do exactly as I say." That sounded wonderful, but as young as she was, she knew that Flemeth was very careful about her wording, and she could tell something was missing.

"Will you teach me how to become a dragon?" She persisted. Flemeth peered at her daughter with narrowed eyes.

"You will never be a dragon." With that, Flemeth brushed past the crestfallen Morrigan and into the cottage. "Continue with your exercises, girl."

She stood there fuming. Never? Not if she had anything to say about it. One day she would prove to her mother that she was just as strong as her. One day. She wiped away the tears that were welling up in her eyes with one hand and pulled out a misshapen wooden staff with the other. She took a deep breath and sent a fireball careening into the nearest bush.

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><p><em>AN: I've said before that this was going to be non-linear, so we get to see a young Morrigan in this one and the next one. Yey for being on a writing kick!_


	5. E is for Encounter

**E is for Encounter**

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><p>"Morrigan, child, where are you?" Flemeth's voice echoed across the cottage. Morrigan looked up from the book of spells she was reading.<p>

"Yes, mother?" She called out. She waited, listening to Flemeth's footsteps on the creaky floorboards coming closer. Her mother poked her head around the open doorframe.

"Ah, there you are. I need you to do something for me." She pushed her way into Morrigan's room, and sat down on the bed next to her. Morrigan folded over the corner of the page she was on and shut the book, giving Flemeth her full attention.

"What is it, mother?"

"I'm meeting a Dalish Keeper today and her apprentice, and I need you to make yourself scarce."

"Why can't I meet them?" Morrigan had not seen a Dalish in person; and the information about them in the cottage was woefully inadequate

"Please, girl, don't be stupid. Knowledge is power, and they can't know about you." Flemeth shoved her daughter's feet off the bed, forcing her to sit upright.

"But you trust them enough to invite them here." She pleaded. She really wanted to meet the Dalish.

"Don't argue with me, Morrigan. You won't win."

"I'm in the middle of something." That was partially true. She had been studying spells, yes, but Morrigan was fairly certain that her mother wouldn't approve of them.

"Get back to it later." Flemeth sighed. "If you can't find something else with which to occupy yourself, then perhaps there is something you can do. The Keeper is traveling with her clan, but she and her First are supposed to leave them behind. I don't trust the rest of the clan not to follow her. Watch her trail – make sure that no one else comes near here. If they do, warn me. You can practice your shapeshifting if you like." Morrigan almost squealed with glee at getting permission to shapeshift. She leapt off the bed and started towards the door.

"Farewell, mother!"

"Hold it." Morrigan stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Flemeth. "What form are you going to use?" She asked accusingly. Morrigan thought for a moment.

"Wolf."

"Better a bird. Small, unnoticable, fast and can fly. The Dalish hunt wolves for their pelts. Birds have excellent eyes." Flemeth was testing her, she knew it. Her mother was under the impression she chose the form because she liked it. Her mother was wrong.

"You said you didn't want me to get close; I'll stay far enough away from their bows. I can't tell Dalish apart by sight alone, but I can tell them by odor. And I can howl from a great distance to signal you if any approach. Bird calls may not carry far enough." Morrigan said with a triumphant grin. Her logic was impeccable. Flemeth hrumphed in reply and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Morrigan dashed off, thrilled that she had passed the test.

She transformed the second she was outside of the cottage. She reveled in the sensation of being a wolf. Her vision changed, growing worse, but her sense of smell more than made up for it. The world seemed richer and more alive through her nose; trees, plants, animals; everything had a distinctive scent. Who needed to see colors when she could smell them? She could smell a pack of wolves nearby; the same pack who helped her learn this form. A part of her wanted to follow their scent; to find them and run with them. But she had a task, and would not be deterred from it. She lifted her snout to the wind, not entirely sure what she was searching for.

All of a sudden, there it was, a waft of scent so strong, and coming closer. It smelled almost human, but not entirely. There was a strong tang of forest and especially of ironwood. There was the smell of age, and of something that almost, but not entirely, resembled deer. She could smell females and magic. The Keeper. Good, they were almost here.

But the Keeper was not her concern; only the trail that was left behind. Morrigan padded off into the forest, not directly towards the source of the scent, but on a path parallel to it. It would not do for her to be seen. It wasn't long before the scent was behind her, instead of front. She changed course, instead of moving parallel, she headed in a direction that would intersect with their trail. She'd never encountered the Dalish directly, only studied them in books; perhaps she could learn more from their tracks.

One thing was for sure; the elves, or at least the Keepers, were not expecting to be followed. Their footprints were as clear as day, and the smell was as strong as anything. She squinted at two sets, walking side-by-side. One set clearly belonged to an adult, which must be the Keeper, but the other set was tiny; smaller than even her feet in human form. So the apprentice was young, possibly even younger than her. It was hard to tell. That was a surprise; she didn't know why, but she expected it to be someone older, possibly even a full grown adult. She noticed something else too; the prints were of bare feet. So clearly the Dalish didn't use footwear. That was something never mentioned in her history books.

Suddenly, she caught a whiff of something. Another Dalish, this time very close by. She had been so intent on her examination that she almost didn't notice. She certainly didn't hear anything. Morrigan looked around frantically; the scent was almost on top of her. She spotted bushes on the side of the path, and leapt into it the thick of it, then circled around to watch the path.

Not a moment too soon; an elf came up the path, clearly following the trail that the others had left behind. Morrigan was startled to see that it was another youngling; this clearly very close to her own age, and female. The elf girl was slowly and carefully following the tracks, and she seemed to be making a concerted effort to stay completely silent. Morrigan looked on with admiration. Not even the Chasind could move so quietly; but then again, the Chasind wore shoes. This was interesting; she'd never seen a Dalish before, and she'd never seen another person so young.

The girl stopped, and stared at one of the footprints on the ground. That was odd; Morrigan leaned slightly out of the bushes to see why, and almost yelped when she saw what the Dalish was looking at. A pawprint. One of hers. How could she have been so stupid? She sat back on her haunches, and a branch snapped underneath her. Morrigan and the girl froze for a split second. The girl looked into the bushes and straight at her, for a long moment. She couldn't run; not with the girl staring at her. She stepped forward, out of the bush and into the light.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and a big smile spread across her face. She started to make a clicking sound with her tongue. Morrigan cocked her head slightly. What was this Dalish trying to do? Call her? She noticed that the child was not carrying weapons, so maybe she wouldn't try and kill her. So what did the elf want?

"Hello little one. Are you lost? Where's your mother?" the girl asked softly. _At home,_ Morrigan thought, her eyes narrowing at the little girl. The girl reached out a hand, apparently to let Morrigan sniff it. As if she couldn't smell the girl well enough from where she was. She made no move to come closer. "Do you want to be my friend? We could hunt together."

Morrigan could help herself. She laughed; it came out as almost a snort. Friend? She wanted a friend? A tamed pet. A servant to fetch and hunt. She studied the elf child, and the girl studied her back. It certainly was a fearless, if somewhat foolish creature. A friend. No, if this elf knew what she was, she probably would not make such an offer. The mumble of voices interrupted her contemplation and they both looked toward the source of the noise. A quick sniff told her that it was more Dalish, and males this time. They would not want to be her friend, that much was certain. One last glance at the girl showed that she was still looking towards the direction of the voices. Good. As silently as she could manage, she slipped away, as far away from the elves as she could manage.

She was still within hearing distance, though, and she could hear the sound of children arguing. So the males were younglings as well. So not warriors after Flemeth, just curious brats. She opened her throat, about to howl, and stopped. Perhaps it would be more interesting to see just how far they would get.

Morrigan followed them from a distance, always keeping their scent in her nose, and their voices in their ear. One of the males was especially loud, and it made her task easier. They got almost to the tree line, and stopped. So at least one of them wasn't entirely stupid; the path to her mother's cottage held very little cover. It gave her time to get in a position where she could see them, but they couldn't see her. This was much more fun than studying. She heard the three of them arguing, and then the girl took the lead. It didn't surprise her that it was the female who figured out a way. Morrigan watched as they crawled on their bellies towards the cottage, and then she remembered that there was a reason she was following them. Letting them get this far was all fine and well, but her mother would not be happy if they managed to get inside. She howled, hopefully her mother would understand. They got almost to the open window, and she howled again.

Suddenly, the three children tore off, sprinting as fast as they could back to the safety of the trees. Clearly something had frightened them. Good, that meant Flemeth got the message. She watched the boys trudge crestfallen down the path, back towards wherever it was they came from. The girl fell back behind them, and turned back to the cottage. From this distance, Morrigan could almost smell the determination on her. Not an elf who was easily thwarted. An unusual thought popped into her head; she hoped this clan would come back. She didn't like people, any of them, but a part of her wanted to meet this girl again. One day. Another wolf howled – the pack was still close by. She had time; Morrigan loped off to join the other wolves for a hunt.

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><p><em>AN: If you've read one of my other stories **Shadow In The**_**_ Forest_,** _this particular chapter might seem a bit familiar - Chapter 8 tells pretty much the same story from a different perspective. Actually, the chance to tell Morrigan's side of this encounter is a big part of why I chose to do the alphabet challenge with her. If you haven't read it, it's not necessary, but I recommend it, mostly because I like it when people read my stuff ;D. **Shadow In the Forest **is very much a work-in-progress, there's about 11 or 12 chapters up at the moment. Also, I would very much like to hear what people think so; good, bad, or ugly; I'd very much appreciate a review, on anything of mine you happen to read. I will pretty much always send a message back. **Thanks!** _


	6. F is for Flight

**F is for Flying**

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><p>She couldn't believe it. They were going to risk their lives and her freedom to save that harpy of a woman and her abomination of a son. It was absolutely ridiculous. There was a solution to it all, and they wanted to play the good guys. She wasn't going to do it. She was not going to go near the Circle. She had to get away, at least for a little while. She stood up and left the group to their plans. She was going flying.<p>

In one seamless move she went from her human, earthbound self to a bird, a creature of pure air. She labored at first; beating her wings to rise above the trees but it was worth it. Once she was clear; above the people, above the trees, above everything, it was as if the world belonged to her. Much better. Much cooler. _Much_ quieter.

She couldn't see the camp anymore. The sky was empty, and below her the mountains and cliffs grew small. No people as far as the eye could see and as a bird she could see very well indeed. She was feeling better now, she had left frustration far behind to be replaced by the sheer exhilartion and joy of flight. She rode the thermals, barely moving a wing as she glided above Redcliff. In the distance she could see the lake, a sparkling gem of brilliant blue. It was a shame the far end of Calenhad held a prision for her kind. No, that direction was mistake. She banked sharply to the left, and exaulted in the burst of speed. Below, the landscape spread out like an oil painting.

They would never know. Never know what it was like to see the world from above; to see it in all it's glory. They could never know what it feels like to be cradled by the wind, to play among the clouds. They would never be able to see how small they actually were. It was almost sad.

She'd been gone long enough. Not that anyone would have missed her, but she had a task to accomplish and it couldn't be done as a bird. She didn't want to go back; didn't want to go back to the heaviness and the ground and the people. She spied the camp, and her traveling companions; they hadn't moved. Fools. Blind, senseless fools. She circled lower and lower, and the group came into focus; the Dalish elf, the idiot Warden, the insane girl, and the stoic qunari.

And then there was the new one; the golem. If her brain was still working correctly, the creature had an unhealthy fear of flying things. Perhaps the ground could wait; it wouldn't hurt to amuse herself a little longer.

Oh, how she loved being a bird.

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><p><em>AN: So this short was inspired by a drabble called **Solitude **by **Suilven; **A fantastic writer who has a project going where she write a 100 word drabble every day of the year. It's called **A Year of Dragon**_** Age .net/s/7718871/1/A_Year_of_Dragon_Age .**_ It's pretty brilliant, and an ambitious project, I encourage everyone to check it out. _


	7. G is for Glimmer

**G is for Glimmer**

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><p>She made it to the road. It was almost habit now; leaving the cottage, turning into an animal, and then hightailing it to the road. She had discovered this wide, flat path at the edge of her Wilds some weeks past, and now every time she could get away, she was there, watching it. She was fascinated by the carts and all the things in it, and the people in strange clothes who laughed and talked on their journey. She wondered where they came from, and where they were going. Today, she was going to find out.<p>

She went as a bear, a small black bear with powerful muscles and unending stamina. Flemeth approved of this form, and Morrigan was starting to see why, she barely noticed the long distance. It wasn't long before the road opened up, and she got her first glimpse of a town.

It was amazing, this town. More people together than she'd ever seen in her life and houses all packed together, some twice as big as her own cottage in the wilds. Horses, and animals, and dogs were everywhere. There were even carts, both empty and full. She noticed people clasping hands, embracing each other. Some were laughing, some were yelling. It was almost overwhelming, but strangely enticing. She had to see more.

But not as a bear. One of the dogs would do nicely, but she hadn't done enough study on it. A bird then. Birds could always get close. She quickly transformed again, and flew straight into the middle of town. Nobody took notice of the little bird sitting on a fence post, watching everything go by. A glimmer in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she flew over to see what it was, and was astounded by what she saw.

It was a carriage, unlike anything she'd ever seen. It sparkled and shimmered, brighter then the sun. The horses attached to it were the purest white, and they wore feather plumes in their manes. There was a man in the driver's seat; he wore a brightly colored jacket that looked to be of the finest material. Standing outside of the carriage, talking to one of the other townsfolk, was the most beautiful lady she had ever seen. She soft blond hair done up in an intricately braided coif with little gems stuck in everywhere. Curls hung down to frame her heart-shaped face and emphasize full red lips and large green eyes. She was dressed in silk of the brightest red trimmed in gold. She wore so much jewelry that she sparkled like the carriage. So this was beauty and wealth.

The window of the carriage was open, and Morrigan was curious if the inside was just as beautiful as the outside. She flew in, completely over the head of the lady, and landed on the seats. They were red and thick, and soft. It was hard to tell under her talons, but Morrigan suspected that this was easily about ten times softer than her sleeping pallet in the cottage. There was something stuck in the cushions, a handle of gem encrusted gold. She tried to pull it out with one foot, but she was much to small. She glanced out the carriage. There was no window to the front, so the driver wouldn't see her, and as luck would have it, the lady stepped away. She shed her bird form and quickly yanked at the gold handle.

It was a mirror. Morrigan saw her reflection in the clear surface. She saw a skinny, scrawny child, with a serious, thin face, and messy dark hair. Her clothes were dirty rags. How could she ever hope to be like the lady? Morrigan felt a sudden stab of jealousy and desire. She was a girl from the Wilds, an outsider. This woman had everything, and all she had was a cottage in the swamp and Flemeth. But maybe...

Morrigan stroked the edges of the mirror. The woman would never miss it. She had so many pretty things. Morrigan just wanted one. She heard movement outside the carriage, and she froze. They were coming back. Quick as a wink she opened the other door and tumbled out, racing down the road and away from the carriage as fast as she could. The golden mirror was still in her hands. She wanted to shout with glee, but instead, she just kept running.

Flemeth was gone when she got home, so she spent some time playing with the mirror, turning it over and over in her hands, sending reflected beams of light dancing around the cottage. She stared at her reflection, playing with her hair, and pouting her lips in imitation of the blond lady. She traced the etched design of the mirror's frame.

"Morrigan? What is that?" Her mother's voice startled her. Instinctively, she hugged the mirror to her chest.

"N-nothing, mother." She said, trying to think to think of some way to hide her prize.

"Don't lie to me child. Don't ever lie to me. Give that here." She held out her hand, but Morrigan merely shook her head and held it tighter. Flemeth rolled her eyes and pried the mirror out of her daughter's hands. Morrigan resisted as much as she could, but Flemeth was just too strong. She lashed out with a small cold spell, but Flemeth brushed it off like it was nothing. Flemeth gave one more yank and pulled the mirror away from Morrigan, sending the girl backwards. Flemeth examined the mirror for a moment, and then slapped her in the cheek with an open palm.

"Don't ever try that again." She admonished. Morrigan rubbed her injured cheek. "Where did you get this?"

"I...I..." Flemeth slapped her other cheek this time.

"Don't waffle. Did you steal it?" Morrigan hung her head. She couldn't look her mother in the eye. "You did, didn't you? You went into town and you stole it." Flemeth peered at her, waiting for a response, but Morrigan pursed her lips tightly and said nothing.

"You risked discovery for this bauble? You really are a stupid girl. Look at me, Morrigan." Morrigan slowly raised her eyes to meet her mother's. They were dark and angry, like an incoming storm. Flemeth held her daughter's gaze and lifted the mirror above her head, daring her to do something. She brought her arm down with a snap, send the mirror into the floor, shattering into a million pieces. Morrigan threw her arm over her face to protect it from shards. Flemeth snorted, and turned towards the kitchen.

"Clean that up, girl." She said. Morrigan lowered her arm, and stared at the destroyed remains of the mirror. Beauty shattered. A single tear glimmered at the corner of her eye.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The thing about the golden mirror has always been one of my favorite things about Morrigan; that and her inexplicable love of shiny things. Flemeth clearly doesn't see it that way._


	8. H is for Hate

**H is for Hate**

* * *

><p>She really, really hated Faleni right now. She was miles underground, and away from the trees, the sky, the sun, light, wind, and decent company. Not that they travelled in the best of company ever, but the least Faleni could have done was bring along Sten. She liked Sten. He was big, strong, and quite intelligent. And silent. Everything that drunk dwarf and that sneaky assassin were not. And until they left the Deep Roads, she was trapped with them.<p>

At least at the moment, Oghren and Zevran weren't trying to talk to her. They were, however, leering; she could feel it on the back of her neck, and it was setting her on edge.

"Morrigan..." Zevran started to say in that obnoxious Antivan accent of his. If it was another attempt at flirting, she wasn't going to be responsible for what she did next. "...my delicate swamp flower, I was just..." That did it. He wasn't going to live to finish that sentence. She whipped around, staff in hand, and sent a bolt of ice at the assassin. He froze instantly on the spot. Oghren looked on in shock.

"Witch, what did you do that for?" He grumbled irritatingly. She morphed into a spider, and lept on the dwarf, knocking him on his back. All eight legs pinned him to the ground. At least as a spider she couldn't smell him. She leaned closer, her fangs dripping with poison. She was so close to ending this misery.

"Morrigan. Stop. Don't kill Oghren." Faleni said, boredom dripping with every syllable. "We need him and I really don't want to sic Belinan on you." Morrigan's fangs stopped just short of Oghren's neck. Belinan was Faleni's pet spider, and he really didn't like Morrigan. She'd forgotten about him. Reluctantly she climbed off of the dwarf and morphed back into human form. Oghren was about to breath a sigh of relief, when she shot off another bolt of ice, rendering him motionless. Faleni sighed, and rolled her eyes. She walked over to the ice statues of Oghren and Zevran, and examined them thoughtfully.

"You know, if these were for sale, I don't think anyone would buy them. Too ugly. Next time, could you try to get them in better poses?" The Warden's attempt at levity did nothing to improve Morrigan's mood.

"They were obnoxious. This whole venture has been most disagreeable. Warden, why on earth did you think bringing these two miscreants along was a good idea? For that matter, why am I even here? Surely Wynne would be better suited towards the task?" She was nearly pleading. What lows those two idiots have brought her to.

"I have my reasons, Morrigan. Oghren knows the Deep Roads. Zevran's a sneaky bastard and you..."

"And I? And I what?" Her eyes narrowed to pinpoints and bore into the redhaired elf's face.

"You keep them out of my way. If they're bothering you, then they're not trying to distract me." Faleni grinned. "Now will you please defrost them so we can keep going?" The unrepentant elf turned around and practically skipped down the path. Morrigan glared at her retreating back, and then back at the frozen figures.

"I hate you all so much."

* * *

><p><em>AN - Yeah, I was in a silly mood when I wrote this chapter. But you know... I always wondered why she didn't haul off and do something to those two. Also, Belinan is Dalish for "many eyes" bel = many, inan=eyes._


	9. I is for Ice

**I is for Ice**

* * *

><p>They always asked if she was cold. It would almost be sweet, if it wasn't so annoying, and if they were actually concerned for her well being and not their own prudery. Her wardrobe suited her just fine and no, she never minded the cold.<p>

Why would she? She was a child of the Korcari Wilds. She was bred for the freezing temperatures and the constant mist. Ferelden may be foul-smelling, rainy bog, but it was a tropical paradise compared to the swamps that were perpetually iced over and the wind that whipped through the trees, sharper than any razor. Alistair and Faleni had spent but a short time there, and they shivered and shook and hoped for the cold snap to end. They didn't realize it never would. They wouldn't have survived in the Wilds.

But she had an affinity for the ice and cold; revelled in it. It sharpened her senses, opened her eyes, forced her to stay active and alert in order to survive. She accepted it as a part of her and harnessed it's power. What need had she to hide from it? Let the others complain, bundle themselves up and wish for warmer weather. They hid from the ice's bite and they were weak for it; lethargic and stupid.

The campfire blazed merrily away in front of her. The light it gave off was nice, even if she didn't need the heat. The silence around her was broken by the sound of laughter from the main camp. She glanced over at the rest of the group. Leliana was telling a story, and apparently something she said made Alistair, Zevran, and Faleni fall over each other in laughter. Oghren was hiccuping in mirth, and even Wynne had a smile on her face. Laughter, when the Blight was all around them? Just how blind were they? Morrigan snorted in contempt. Let them cling together for comfort. She had the ice.


	10. J is for Jealousy

She noticed the way Flemeth looked at her these days. Morrigan didn't remember when the change begun, but it had been recent, within the last few months at least. A crease formed between the old woman's eyebrows whenever she looked at her daughter. It was different than the judgmental look she was used to receiving; the eagle eyes searching for each and every mistake, the mouth slightly open, ready to make her disapproval known. No, now the eyes looked concerned, but unfocused. The lips were tight. It was like she was thinking, considering very hard about something, but only when her gaze fell upon the young witch.

She wondered why. Nothing drastic had changed, not that she knew of. Morrigan had done everything her mother had asked from her; had worked hard to master the spells, cooked, cleaned, she hadn't done anything that would alert the Chantry to their presence. There was no reason for her mother to look at her so oddly. And yet the look would not dissipate.

She decided to ignore it. For the moment, anyway. Just another secret for Flemeth to keep from her daughter. If it mattered, she would learn about it in due time.

* * *

><p>"Morrigan?" She heard her mother calling from outside.<p>

"Yes, mother?" She was likely going to be slapped for her insolent tone, however unintentional it was. Still, she didn't like be interrupted when she was studying. With a resigned sigh, she placed the scroll down and went out to greet her mother.

And apparently her mother's... friend.

"Morrigan, dear, I have some... errands for you to run. Do take your time." There was a lot that Flemeth wasn't saying, but it didn't need to be said. She had heard it all before. No, her mother's guest was far more interesting. A Chasind, of course. Young, strapping, and full of life. Not for long, of course.

"Of course, mother. I'll go right away." She didn't ask what the errands were; they didn't exist. It was just a polite excuse to get her out of the hut for a few hours. Not that she wouldn't hear about it later, but Morrigan was glad she did not actually have to witness it. She brushed past the Chasind, who stared at her in a manner most unnerving. That look she knew; it was the same way most of the enchanted Wilders looked her mother when they came to visit. It was odd to see it turned on her though. The strange, faraway look on Flemeth's face appeared again as well.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get out of the Wilds altogether. Leave and never come back. Just to get away from her mother's gaze.

Who was she kidding? She'd always come back. Still, a trip away from the Wilds didn't sound like a terrible idea. Morrigan strode off towards the nearest stream. If she was going to visit civilization, she'd need to look the part. Or at least not scream 'apostate'

She paused when she saw her reflection. It had been awhile since she truly looked at herself; Flemeth didn't keep many mirrors, and those she did were mostly used for scrying. Morrigan hadn't paid much attention to her appearance and she was surprised by what she saw. She was beautiful.

For ages, Flemeth had only referred to her daughter as a scrawny stick, said that she was too pinched-looking, that her face was too harsh. And for years, it had been true. Morrigan had seen it herself. But no longer. The gangliness of adolescence had disappeared, she had filled out, and grew into her features. Somehow in the last few months she had transformed into a woman and, if the stream told the truth, a beautiful one. She almost wanted to reach out and touch her reflection, but she was afraid of marring the vision before her.

Suddenly it all made sense. The Chasind looked at her like he would a woman, not like a child, for that's what she appeared to be. She was something to be desired, and Flemeth... Flemeth was jealous.

She laughed, and the reflection showed pearly white teeth and a face that became even more stunning with happiness. It was an odd thought; her mother being jealous. The all powerful Witch of the Wilds, the immortal mage, the woman who could enchant anyone, envious of a little girl? Yet it was the only explanation that made sense. Flemeth must have noticed the change in her daughter, must have noticed how old and tired she looked in comparison, and grew jealous of the youthful, gorgeous Morrigan.

What other reason could there be?


	11. K is for Killing

She would never admit it to him, but Morrigan found herself envious of Alistair on occasion. Only on occasion, of course, and for one reason only. A reason she doubted very much he'd appreciate; the idiotic, bleeding-heart goody-goody.

She rather envied his ability to kill.

Oh she had killed, of course. With curses, poisons, spells. She'd set them on fire, frozen them, drained the life from them, confused them into killing themselves, made them explode; she'd killed in so many interesting and painful ways. But from a distance. Where she would be safe, untouched. Alistair, on the other hand got right up into the fray. He could see the fear in their eyes, feel their heart thudding in their chest, smell the sweat and heat of their breath as they fought in vain for their miserable existence. Then, when the fatal blow was dealt, to have the blood and viscera come welling up, hot and wet, tasting of iron and life, spattering over armor and weapon like a badge of victory.

Her way was better, of that she was sure. More efficient, cleaner, safer. She didn't have to wear bulky armor, or exert herself to the same extent; in the time it took Alistair to land a killing blow, she would have already dispatched with three others. Still, she imagined that his way was far more satisfying. Maybe not to him, Alistair didn't seem to enjoy killing. But that was part of the reason why she was envious of him specifically and not the others in the party who also got up close and personal with the enemy; Alistair in particular didn't seem to appreciate what he was capable of.

Such were the thoughts on her mind as they trudged through the Brecilian Forest, sent on another fool errand. Morrigan didn't understand why Faleni put up with it; the treaties should force people to help the Grey Wardens, and yet everyone they encountered refused to honor their promise unless Faleni cleaned up whatever mess they made first. Yet, instead of taking them to task for dereliction of duty, the Dalish Warden acceded to their requests. If Morrigan didn't know any better, she'd have thought Faleni was a city elf, born and bred to serve. Though that was unkind; at least in this instance. After all, this time it was the Dalish, Faleni's people, they were helping out. Maybe it was some sort of elven honor thing.

"Bandits!" Alistair shouted, several paces ahead. Immediately, a large group of scruffy-looking men had swarmed over the ex-Templar. Faleni drew her knives and whistled, getting the attention of her pet wolf. The large beast snarled and lunged, sinking his teeth deep into the calf of one of the attackers. Wynne was behind Morrigan, and she was already preparing a spell that would hopefully protect Alistair from too much harm.

The bandits had the element of surprise. Alistair laid all about him with sword and shield, trying to keep the bandits from getting through his defense. Faleni and her wolf methodically worked their way through the pack, picking off their targets one by one, trying to give Alistair some breathing room. The swamp witch watched the battle her staff at the ready, but there was too much going on; too many people moving too much. She tried to find targets, but every time she thought she had locked in on one, they disappeared. With Alistair and Faleni in the middle of it all, she couldn't even conjure up a good storm without risking their lives as well. It was an unmitigated disaster.

Which only got worse with Alistair's strength failing. Wynne tried to bolster him up as much as possible, but the Circle mage was old and slow, and their opponents too numerous. A shield caught Alistair upside the head, knocking his helmet off and sending him sprawling, unconscious, into the dirt. Morrigan caught Faleni's eyes; she could see the fear in them. She knew why. Faleni was deadly with her knives, but she couldn't hold up against multiple opponents for very long, neither could her wolf. Wynne was... well, not useless, but she was hardly a fighter. It looked bad for all of them.

She smiled. Maybe they didn't have to die.

"Cover me!" She shouted at the Dalish Warden. The elf furrowed her brow in confusion, but nodded. The elf started dancing in and out of her opponents, trying to get their attention while still keeping out of their reach. Her daggers flashed, though few found their mark. Morrigan didn't pay attention to it though, she couldn't divide her focus; the spell she was casting was much too difficult.

It didn't happen all at once, and the Witch of the Wilds could feel every change in her body. Her skin prickled, her muscles rippled and stretched. She felt heavier and more powerful. Her hands shortened and grew clumsy, and she could see brown hairs poking out of her arms, her fingernails lengthening into claws. Her vision grew weaker, but the smells grew stronger.

When the prickling finally stopped, the girl in rags was gone and in her place stood a large brown bear. She roared, and the remaining bandits looked up in fright. That was all the signal she needed. Morrigan attacked.

She had no armor, but her fur was thick and her hide tough. She had no sword, but she had teeth and claws. The bandits attacked her en masse, but she was strong and powerful, more than a match for a few paltry bandits. She bit and kicked, swatted and swiped. Blood got in her claws, sweat in her eyes, and she felt the sting of several cuts as a few lucky stabs found their mark, but in the end, the bandits were slain.

They made camp there, mostly so Wynne could take care of the injured Alistair. Faleni would not leave the injured Warden's side and set her wolf to guard over the camp. Morrigan sat by the fire, in human form once more, but she could still taste flesh on her tongue and smell bile in her nostrils. It was disgusting and vile. It was glorious.


	12. L is for Lost

This couldn't be happening. She was a Witch of the Wilds. She knew land. She knew the wilderness. She could find her way by sight, by magic, by the nose of the wolf if she needed too. And yet.

And yet here she was; terribly, hopelessly lost.

Something must have happened to her in the years that she traveled with Faleni. She must have lost her directional sense. After all, the Dalish was the best tracker of the group – with her along all Morrigan had to worry about was her spellcasting. But now Morrigan was on her own, pregnant and searching for something others thought was dangerous and thankfully long gone. And she was lost.

It could be the pregnancy that was screwing everything up. Women went through many changes, and her child had the soul of an Old God. Not to mention it was fathered by Alistair who didn't have the sense nature gave to a worm. Who knew how such a pregnancy could be affecting her natural acumen?

It still didn't change the fact that she was completely lost, and she needed some way to remedy that. She at least knew that she wasn't in Ferelden anymore; she'd spent the last two years tramping all over that forsaken country. So that was at least something useful. She wished she could turn into a wolf or a bird, but she honestly had no idea what that would do to her child at this stage of the pregnancy. She wasn't about to risk it. There was no moss, and at the moment, no sun. She wasn't far enough out of Ferelden to escape the dreary grayness yet. She could call it a wash, and camp for the day, but she had so much to do, and not enough time before she was too gravid. There was one way to find out where she was though; and it was not an option that appealed to the witch.

She would ask for directions.

While she had been considering her options, the bracken she trekked through had become a path, and then that path had become a clearing, all of which led to a small village in the middle of the forest. It could hardly have even been called a village – more like a small enclave of huts. If it wasn't for the fact that it was slightly warmer here, she might have thought she was among the Chasind.

A man, tanned, brunette and bearded, looking like every other one of the dog lords, came out of the hut. Morrigan sighed. It couldn't be helped.

"Excuse me." She said.

"Can I 'elp ya?" The man seemed startled by the appearance of a pregnant woman in rags. "Ye lost, mistress?"

"I... am, actually." Morrigan gritted her teeth. "Tell me, perchance, where am I?"

"Where's your husband?" He said, ignoring her question. Of course that was his first question. In a backwards place like this, seeing a woman traveling alone was like seeing a griffon in the sky.

"None of your business." She replied, irritated. "Now my answer my question." The man frowned, obviously thinking very hard, and Morrigan tried very hard not to reach for her staff. This man was clearly stupider than Alistar.

"Oh aye m'lady. You're in Jader."

"Jader?" Not as far as she had hoped she'd gotten then.

"Aye."

"Blast it." She needed to get to the Dales to continue her search. It would take her weeks to get there, if not longer. Could she find the Eluvian before her child was born? Or would she have to give birth on the road? Was it even worth it? Morrigan suddenly felt very, very tired.

"Do ya need a place to stay for tonight m'lady?" She hadn't realized the man was still there; she had assumed he moved on to do whatever inane tasks he had planned in his exciting life.

"What?"

"A place to sleep?"

"No." She said shortly. The man gave a significant look at her protruding belly. "Sure about tha' m'lady?"

"Stop calling me that." Morrigan was evading and she knew it. She couldn't deny she was tired, but she had no desire to stay in the village. Too many people. Too many questions. Too much to do. "I have to be on my way."

"Ah right. Do ya need anything for your journey?" Would this man never stop talking? She didn't understand why he persisted in bothering her.

"I'll be fine."

"Ah now, lass, sure you wouldn't mind some food. Ya can't have much, by the looks of your pack. And a growing babe needs to eat."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. How obnoxious could one person be?

"Fine, if it will make you happy. I could do with a meal."

"Right. Come with me, then." The man walked slowly towards one of the identical huts. Morrigan was annoyed by the pace, though it wasn't as if she could move much faster.

"Where are you headed?"

"Also none of your business, stranger."

"No need to be like that lass. Just a simple question is all. We don't get a lot of visitors here. Can you blame me for curiousity?"

"I suppose not."

"My name is Godwin, by the by."

"Morrigan." She muttered.

"Pretty name." He opened the door to a hut. "Here we are, home sweet home." The hut was cluttered, and small. It looked like it hadn't seen a broom for centuries.

"How many people live here?"

"Oh just myself these days. Wife died back during the Blight. Son up and moved to the city a few years before that." A normal person would be inclined to feel sorry for the man. Morrigan was distracted by the smell of rotting food. The man dug around a few cabinets until he dug up a loaf of half-eaten bread and some dried sausage. "Here ya go."

Morrigan took the food gingerly. "Umm... th-thank you, I... what do I owe you?"

"Nothin, lass. Would do it for any traveler. Especially one in the family way."

Now Morrigan was even more confused. In her experience, people like him were small-minded and selfish. After all, that's how one survived in the world. To meet those who were otherwise was... disconcerting.

"Well thank you then. I'll be on my way." She said, starting to head out the door.

"Morrigan?" The voice behind her stopped her.

"Yes?"

"The river's about a half-day's walk north of here. If you follow it down river, will take you towards Ferelden."

"And if I wanted to go towards Orlais?"

"Then follow it upstream towards the Frostbacks." The man almost grinned. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why.

"My thanks."

With her pack slightly fuller, and a clear direction to go in, Morrigan was back on her way, walking briskly until she was out of sight of the village, and Godwin. A silly, small man. Helpful, but stupid. She was glad to be away from him, and even more glad she was no longer lost. After losing sight of them, she slowed her pace. Something was wrong.

She knew where she was now. So why did she still feel so lost?


End file.
